


if I was a sculptor

by torigates



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/pseuds/torigates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How do you want me?” she asked. </p>
<p>He looked up at her with wide eyes pupils blown wide with arousal. He seemed to be struggling for words. </p>
<p>She took pity on him. “On top? On my back? My knees?” She punctuated each suggestion with a firm stroke from base to tip, making sure to twist her wrist a little at the head, her thumb catching on the underside of his cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if I was a sculptor

**Author's Note:**

> expanded upon tumblr fic I originally wrote for rubykatewriting

There’s a heavy weight on her back, is the first thing Jennifer notices when she wakes up.  
The light streaming in from the large bay windows is the second thing.

She blinks a few times, and rubs her face against the pillow in hopes of clearing the sleep from her eyes or blocking out the sunlight. She’s not particularly sure which one.

Behind her, the weight on her back stirs, and Jennifer remembers she’s in Derek’s apartment. They’d stumbled back to the loft after another encounter with the alphas (and she feels the still familiar rush of fear in her gut over _alpha werewolves_ ), Derek’s back and shoulder torn to bits.

Again.

Jennifer really wanted to gut one or two of those bastards herself.

Derek had insisted his was fine, of course. “It’ll heal," he said, in that gruff tone of voice. She wasn’t sure how someone whose voice was so lilting and musical could sound that rough, but he managed it. She wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to know.

He rubbed his face across her shoulder blades, echoing her earlier motion. His permanent stubble scratched across her bare skin and she shivered.

"Morning," he said, voice thick with grogginess instead of pain. She wanted to keep him.

"How’s your back?" she asked.

"Feels fine."

She rolled her eyes, and squirmed out from underneath him. He flopped down into the space she was just occupying, and she ran her hands over the now smooth plane of his back. His muscles bunched underneath her touch, and she took a moment to feel amazed that so much destruction could simply be erased.

She kissed the middle of his triskele, and he turned underneath her. She draped herself across his torso and planted a kiss on his mouth, unconcerned and unashamed of their mutual morning breath.

"Hi," she said.

He smiled, small and quiet, and she put her head down on his body, determined to protect him from facing the day because she could protect him from nothing else.

They dozed, she traced lazy symbols across his skin, and he brought his hand up to stroke gently up and down the line of her spine.

Sometime later the aimlessness of his touch took on new purpose, and the sporadic kisses she was bestowing every so often increased with frequency and fervor. She slotted their hips together, one of her thighs tucked between his, and felt him hard against her. Her breath hitched.

His hand rested heavy at the nape of her neck, and when she looked up at him, he leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth was soft from sleep, and hot, and wet. His other hand came up to cradle her face, his fingers brushing against her jaw.

She ran her tongue along his bottom lip and bit it, before sucking it into her mouth to sooth the sting. The hand at the back of her head gripped her tighter, his fingers tangling in her hair. He kissed her once on the lips before forcing her head back, biting a trail over her jaw and down her throat. She gasped and thrust her hips down against his thigh looking for friction.

In response he sucked on her neck, and bent his leg, giving her something firm to press herself against. She was already so wet, and she was sure he could feel it against his skin. Sure he could smell it on her for ages now. He ran his hand from her hip up between her breasts before leaning up even further to suck one of her nipples into his mouth. She moaned and rocked down harder against his thigh.

"Oh shit," Jen said. “Shit, Derek."

He hummed against her breast. “Yeah," he said. “Yeah." His hands came up to her hips and _lifted_ until she was straddled over his waist. She leaned down and kissed his mouth again, sucking on his tongue in the way she knew drove him crazy.

"Derek," she said. “Come on, please."

He grinned, and reached between them, rubbing once firmly over her clit before sinking two fingers inside her and twisting. She jerked in his grasp, and he ran his hands back down her thighs and up behind her until he was cupping her ass.

"Move forward," he said, urging her on.

She crawled awkwardly on her knees, until Derek lifted her again. She settled her legs on either side of his head. She settled her hands on the wall in front of her, and she could feel Derek just breathing against her cunt.

"Ah, fuck, Derek," she said. “Don’t—please—come on," the last words coming out in a frustrated growl.  
He chuckled, and she didn’t know if she wanted to lean back and smack him, or press herself further into him. She settled on the latter.

He hummed and opened him mouth under her, licking a long, hot stripe against her before sucking gently on her clit. She gasped again, and pressed herself closer.

"Oh fuck me," she said. “Fuck me."

He did, using his lips and tongue he fucked into her hot, wet cunt over and over again. His stubble scraped on her inner thighs, and before long she was letting out a near continuous stream of gasps and high, breathy moans.

He settled one hand on her hip, and used two fingers on the other to fuck into her deeper, alternating slipping his tongue between them and licking swirls around her clit.

Finally, when her thighs were shaking and she was having trouble holding herself up over him, he settled into a brutal pace with his fingers inside her and his mouth on sucking on her clit, and she came clenching down hard against his fingers and face.

He manhandled her down from her perch on top of him, until she was tucked up against his side. His mouth was wet and red, his hair and eyes wild. She smiled contentedly, and thrust her leg between his. He groaned.

"Give me two minutes," she said, patting him on the chest. “And I’ll return the favour.”

Instead of looking annoyed or impatient, he simply looked smug that he could put her out of commission like that. Jen wanted to roll her eyes at him, but even her eyeballs felt tired. Instead, she crossed her arms over his chest and perched her chin on the back of her hand. She grinned, feeling a bit predatory herself. 

“I thought you said two minutes,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. She couldn’t help but think back to their first—should she say _controversial_ meeting. The way he had looked at her with nothing but sheer determination in his eyes. Back then, she wasn’t sure what it was inside him that kept him going, kept him moving forward despite the exhaustion and seeming futility of fighting. 

And yet he did. He kept going. Not only that, but he cared enough to come looking for her, to make sure she was—if not okay, than at least still standing. Something Derek could relate to, she supposed. 

She never would have thought back then at those early encounters that she would find herself here in his bed. That he would look at her with faint traces of real happiness curling around the edges of his expression. That _she_ could be the one to put that look on his face. 

It wasn’t a lot. It probably wasn’t even enough. There was a lot she didn’t know about Derek, and a lot she probably never would, but she could have this now, just the two of them hidden away from the previous night’s horror, and she would hold onto it tightly enough for the both of them. 

“I changed my mind,” she said. She arched her eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Hale?”

He shifted his hips so his hard cock was pressed more firmly against her thigh and grinned. “None whatsoever, Ms Blake.” 

She jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and he made an exaggerated ‘oof’ noise. Instead of rolling her eyes, Jen trailed her palm delicately down his chest, and rubbed teasing circles low on his belly. He made little hitching motions with his hips, and Jen resisted the urge to pout a little bit. Teasing Derek was never much fun because he would never ask for what he wanted. 

She rubbed one more slow circle over his stomach, fingers mere inches away from where his dick is lying hard on his abdomen. This time when his hips jerk upward she allows her hand to go where it’s most wanted and grips him firmly at the base of his erection before stroking him in quick succession. He gasped and she swung her leg over both of his, turning her torso so she was draped across his chest. She kissed his slack, open mouth, biting and sucking at his lips until he responded. 

Derek’s hand slid up her back and his fingers twined in the hair at her nape. She broke the kiss to reach across him to the nightstand where they kept the condoms, fishing around until she was able to pull a whole string out. 

“That might be a little ambitious,” he tells her dryly. 

“We’ll see,” was all she said, focusing on getting one condom unwrapped. 

That accomplished she sat back on her heels, holding the condom carefully. She pinched the tip and rolled it down over his hard dick. She watched his hips flex as he focused on holding himself still. 

“How do you want me?” she asked. 

He looked up at her with wide eyes pupils blown wide with arousal. He seemed to be struggling for words. 

She took pity on him. “On top? On my back? My knees?” She punctuated each suggestion with a firm stroke from base to tip, making sure to twist her wrist a little at the head, her thumb catching on the underside of his cock. 

“Oh _baby_ ,” she said when he still didn’t reply, climbed into his lap and sat herself down on his dick. “Good?” she asked. 

He bent his knees up behind her, giving her leverage. She worked herself up and down. His hands trailed over her thighs, up her back and around her shoulders, refusing to settle. He cupped her face and she leaned down to kiss him. He palmed her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples. She reveled in the way his hands felt on her, enjoyed the contrast of his big hands on her body. 

“Good?” she asked again. “You close?” 

He gripped her hips and thrust up hard and fast into her. “Yeah,” he said. “But you first.” 

She laughed. His hands stayed firm on her, holding her steady so he could fuck up into her body. She pitched forward, one palm flat on the mattress next to his head, and used her other hand to touch herself. 

“Yeah,” she agreed breathlessly. “Yes, yes, fuck—yes.”

She came with a quiet gasp and shuddered around him. She could still feel him moving below her, but everything was warm and hazy. When he collapsed down on the bed, she rolled off him, and let him deal with the used condom. 

He rolled back towards her moments later, tucking one leg between hers and nuzzling at her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and listened to the two of them breathe.


End file.
